


what would an angel say (the devil wants to know)

by ohmyloki



Series: heaven help me for the way I am [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, and lets be real theres like almost no conflict in this, matt and foggy work through their issues in a responsible and healthy way, there is a lot of dialogue... just so much dialogue, unless you count foggy vs a splinter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyloki/pseuds/ohmyloki
Summary: After Fisk is officially back in prison (again) and Foggy puts pen to napkin for a second time, the three of them quickly become a well-oiled machine in the office above Nelson's Meats.On the personal side, however, things are still brittle between Matt and Foggy.





	what would an angel say (the devil wants to know)

**Author's Note:**

> There are some major spoilers in this for pretty much everything that happened in Season 3, so please be aware of that. This includes a brief mention of Matt's suicide attempt from episode 1.
> 
> It's entirely possible this fic started because of my fixation on Matt's little drunken hop/laugh in S01E10 and with just how happy he looked. I just wanted to see him that happy again.... who better than Foggy to do it? A lot of this is just plain wish fulfillment, putting them in situations that I found amusing and re-hashing conversations the way I wanted to see them... and a lot of it is just very very trope-y.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Many thanks to [wereborker](https://wereborker.tumblr.com)/[spanglesandsass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidella/works) for being my sounding board through the entire process and reading the entire thing to give me feedback even though she doesn't even go here.
> 
> (This is essentially unbetad, any mistakes are my own!)

Matt smiles and there’s a beautiful dichotomy between the happiness on the surface and the underpainting of sadness that colors the edges. It’s poetic in its tragedy.

Foggy hates poetry.

He misses Matt’s real smile. He misses the way Matt used to laugh, _really_ laugh. Nowadays, he’ll grin and chuckle and sometimes Foggy will get a short ‘ha’ out of him, but the loud carefree laughter, the silly giggles, the wide smiles of their law school days… they all seem to have dried up.

He wishes he could think of it only as a growing pain of post-resurrection Matt, but the longer he thinks about it the further back he has to go to remember the sound of Matt’s laughter, or the smiles untainted by the pain and grief all three of them seem to be full of lately. It makes Foggy’s heart give a sad, heavy thump in his chest.

There was a time when Matt, the evergreen lightweight, just two drinks into their night, would barely be able to sit still. Get him giggling and in his haze of alcohol-infused happiness, he would wiggle and squirm around in his seat like a toddler. It used to make Foggy’s heart do strange things in his chest.

Now, he sits stock-still at his desk across the room, a small frown playing on his lips as he listens intently to his screen reader.

Foggy can admit that he hasn’t been a very good friend lately. After Fisk was officially back in prison (again) and Foggy had put pen to napkin for a second time, he had hoped they would be able to slip effortlessly back into the well-worn paths from before. But while, for the most part, the three of them quickly become a well-oiled machine in the office above Nelson’s Meats, things still feel brittle on the personal side.

The three of them have been out to dinner a few of times, but it usually turns into an extension of the work day, the conversation always skirting the edges of discussing anything remotely personal. Karen calls up Foggy every once in awhile just to chat. He knows that Karen and Matt have had a few late night discussions themselves... but Foggy comes up empty-handed when he tries to think of the last time it was just him and Matt.

As he watches Matt frown across the room, he realizes that, these days, he has no idea what Matt has to be happy about. He has no idea what Matt gets up to when he’s not surrounded by these four walls and the overwhelming smell of a butcher’s shop. It’s a painful realization and Foggy is struck by the fierce desire to see Matt smile, to hear his one-drink-too-many giggle again.

He knows his own anger, the feelings of hurt and betrayal that still sometimes simmer beneath the surface, aren’t wrong. He knows the lies Matt told him over the years are things that _deserve_ his anger. But he also knows that if they ever want to get past this, if they want to move forward the way they had planned before the Castle trial, Foggy’s going to have to be the one to extend the olive branch.

He just hopes Matt is willing to take it.

 

* * *

 

Matt ends up spending a good chunk of the morning lost in thought.

The offices of Nelson, Murdock & Page have only been open for a couple of months but it seems to be going well. Things slid right back into place, none of them having forgotten what it was like to work together, and all of them seemingly grateful to be working with one another again. Not to mention, Karen has really come into her own as a Private Investigator.

The only hiccup seems to be whatever is going on between him and Foggy. Their decade long friendship has dwindled to something more befitting co-workers and nothing more.

And Matt… well, Matt misses Foggy.

He misses Foggy’s anecdotes. He misses Foggy’s terrible jokes. He misses the way a smile sounds on Foggy’s voice. He misses the way Foggy breathes when he’s trying not to laugh. Matt misses the build up, the way the laughter travels through Foggy’s body before it finally breaks free. It happens in an instant, but it’s one of Matt’s favorite journeys.

But Matt hasn’t heard much of that lately. He can’t even remember the last time he heard Foggy smile, unabashed and carefree. The thought strikes him suddenly, as he listens to Foggy make a joke to Karen, the words shaped by a quick there-and-gone grin.

Between them, Foggy is the friendly one. Foggy is warmth, Foggy is pure sunshine, he welcomes everyone with open arms and is always ready with a quick joke to make others (and usually himself) laugh. It shocks Matt that it’s taken him so long to notice the absence of all the happiness Foggy used to carry with him.

Foggy is, of course, still kind and warm and gentle and all the effortlessly good things that Matt struggles with on a daily basis, but Matt can hear the difference. He can hear all of the things that are missing, and it makes his chest ache.

He can’t even wonder where it all went wrong, because Matt already knows the answer. He knows it’s all because of him.

Maybe it’s time to take a step back, he thinks. Not—he doesn’t want to shutter the office again, but maybe he should take some time off. Maybe jumping back into a partnership wasn’t the best idea. For all that Matt needs Foggy, maybe Foggy needs to be away from Matt.

It’s something to consider, at least.

*

He feels Foggy’s gaze on him on and off all morning, but he can’t figure out why. There doesn’t seem to be a strong emotion attached, as far as Matt can tell. If he has to guess, Foggy seems merely… contemplative. In truth, it sets Matt a little on edge. But then Foggy goes out to lunch and when he comes back his attention is back on the work in front of him.

Matt mostly forgets about it as well, focusing on his own work, until Foggy walks over after Karen has left for the day. He’s already pulling out his earbud when Foggy rests a hip on the side of his desk.

“I was just thinking,” Foggy starts. He sounds hesitant and a little fragile.

Matt turns his head towards him.

“It’s been awhile since we got a drink, just the two of us,” Foggy says. Matt hears the sound of skin against fabric as Foggy puts his hands in his pockets. “Josie’s?”

Matt’s eyebrows go up.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh—yeah. Just let me finish up? Ten minutes?”

“Sure thing,” Foggy says and retreats back to his desk to file a few things before they head out.

That was… definitely not what Matt was expecting.

But he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

* * *

 

It’s awkward. It’s _awkward as fuck._ It’s like both of them have completely forgotten how to be normal human beings and make conversation, much less two people who have been best friends for a decade trying to reconnect.

There’s at least ten minutes of small talk about the weather and then a strange non-sequitur about the state of fresh fruit in the grocery store near Foggy’s new apartment. And that’s just how it starts.

Foggy is wondering if he made a mistake, if maybe it’s okay if they’re just partners in law who see each other at the office every day but otherwise have no social involvement with each other, when someone brushes by them _reeking_ of pot.

Foggy snorts but waits politely until the man is out of earshot.

“Yikes,” he says, looking at Matt. The answering smile looks a little more like a grimace. “Oh, damn. I guess the smell must be like a million times worse for you, huh?”

Matt shrugs.

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Remember when the men’s bathroom on our floor backed up in our first semester?”

Foggy shudders in response. He can’t imagine.

“God, I haven’t smelled weed _that_ strong since law school,” Foggy sighs a moment later, the smell still stuck in his nose. “That does bring back memories, though.”

Matt snorts.

“Memories? You got high _once_ and then swore you’d never touch it again.”

“Yeah, well,” he says. “It was intense, okay?”

It probably would have been okay if he would have stopped with half of the brownie. He definitely shouldn’t have followed his friend into the bathroom where they passed the joint back and forth, blowing the smoke out of the open window. Even then, he might have been fine if he hadn’t then taken the other half of the brownie to eat ‘on the road’.

On the road, of course, being the walk down the hall back to his and Matt’s room.

(The state he was in—he’s honestly surprised he made it back without getting lost.)

He vaguely remembers Matt asking him a question when he made it back to the room and Matt laughing thirty seconds later when Foggy still hadn’t answered. Then Matt, the broest of bros, carefully sat him down in front of the television on the slightly-used bean bag chair they had grabbed from the dumpster outside the dorm at the end of the previous semester, and started up a movie. Matt joined him on the floor a couple of minutes later, setting a giant glass of water in front of Foggy, leaning back against the futon with one of his textbooks in his lap.

“Foggy, it took us four hours to watch a ninety minute movie because every other minute you were like, ‘ _Wait, what_? Can we rewind?’”

Foggy chuckles. To be honest, he still had no idea what the movie was about.

“I still can’t believe that was your first time, considering the way you dressed.” Matt adds.

“Pfft,” Foggy says. “How would you even know how I dressed?”

“Fog, do you have any idea how often people came up to _me_ and asked if they could buy an eighth off of you?” Matt says, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, well, it was the style at the time,” he huffs.

“Sure,” Matt says slowly. “Just like the onion I tied around my belt.”

“Oh, don’t sit over there like you’re the paragon of fashion. I distinctly remember your puka shell necklace phase.”

Foggy remembers it well. Fashionable it was not, but the way the white shells dipped in the hollow of Matt’s collarbone was more than a little distracting.

“We all make mistakes,” Matt grumbles.

“Oh, I haven’t even _mentioned_ the giant fake diamond you sported in your ear in 2L.”

After that, the conversation seems to flow a little easier. There are still a few awkward spots, moments where they skirt too close to things neither of them are ready to talk about yet, but at the end of the night when Matt walks Foggy home, Foggy is left with new memories of Matt’s grin and even a chuckle or two.

It may not be the drunken, carefree giggling of Matt’s college years, but they’re not there yet. That’s okay, though. Foggy is a patient man and he’s not afraid of a little hard work.

 

* * *

 

Matt runs into Marci a little over a week later. He’s not really paying attention, too busy thinking about the best angle for an opening statement on the case they just picked up from HC&B, which is why he’s caught off guard when the door to Nelson’s Meats opens right as he tries to grab the handle.

“Oh,” Matt says, a little dumbly, and steps to get out of their way. “Sorry.”

“Murdock.”

“Marci?” Matt asks.

“I’m happy to see you’re not dead,” she says in response.

For as long as he’s known her, Matt has always had a hard time getting a read on her. Right now he can’t tell if she’s angry, happy, or nothing at all.

“Yeah,” Matt says, unsure of what exactly he _should_ say. “Me too.”

It comes out a bit flippant and he hears her heart rate spike. He gets a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Hmm,” she says, crossing her arms. She’s definitely mad now. “Did you know he dreamt about you?”

Matt’s breath catches. “Uh… sorry?”

“Nightmares,” she says. “Often enough that we categorized them”

Something feels like lead in Matt’s chest. He feels lost at sea, set adrift in a conversation he knows he’s not prepared for (one he might never be prepared for). The weight in his chest is threatening pull him under.

“No,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “I... I didn’t know that.”

“Let’s see. There was ‘Body Matt’, ‘Laughing Matt,’ ‘Deathbed Matt,” she says, ticking them off on her fingers. “The worst one, though, was ‘Living Matt’. The one where you just fucked off and faked your death, abandoning everyone and letting them think you were dead on purpose.”

Matt grips his cane tighter, focusing on breathing through the sudden constriction in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say, there doesn’t seem to be a combination of words that could possibly be appropriate. Even if there were, he can’t get the air he needs to speak.

Marci’s staring at him, he can feel it. He made a joke once, telling Foggy not to splash too much because it attracts the sharks.

Right now, Matt’s too busy drowning to care about the splashing.

“We’ve known each other long enough that I know your weird steely exterior is just a front for your martyr complex, abandonment issues, and hardcore insecurity. So I get it. I really do. I believe that you didn’t think your _death_ would be difficult for your best friend _of a decade_ to deal with. I believe that you think he would be better off without you. But he’s not.”

Marci sighs, like she can’t believe she’s saying any of this. Matt’s not sure if he can handle hearing more.

“Look,” she says. “Foggy is strong. And he was managing without you and he would’ve kept on managing—hell, maybe he would have thrived after enough time. But anyone who knew the two of you together could tell something was missing. And I just hope you realize that _you_ are definitely not better off without him.”

Matt’s heart is racing. Marci’s is a little fast but it’s steady and strong.

“Somehow, you guys make each other better. You temper each other. Foggy has you to lift him up, to help steer him, and Foggy… well, he turns you into a semi-respectable human being I guess. I would say you don’t deserve him but Foggy’s his own person and can make that decision himself. He _has_ made that decision himself. Over and over.”

Marci’s silent for a moment, letting her speech sink in.

“Foggy is a good man, Murdock,” she puts a hand on his shoulder and leans in closer. “Don’t fuck this up.”

She’s gone before Matt has the chance to respond, the click of her heels fading long into the distance as Matt stands on the doorstep.

*

“I ran into Marci on the way up,” Matt says, trying for casual as he hangs his coat and leaves his can in the corner. He doesn’t think he hits it, but Foggy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh?” Foggy says, flipping through a folder until he finds what he’s looking for. “Yeah, we had lunch. We brought back some bagels—help yourself.”

Matt can smell them, they’re the good bagels, the ones from the bakery that he and Foggy used to joke about someday being able to afford after they left Landman and Zack. He ignores them.

“How are things going with you guys, by the way?” Matt asks, following Foggy as he sits down as his desk and opens up his laptop. “We never really talked about her after… everything.”

“Ah—well,” Foggy begins and then sighs, he leans back in his chair and gives Matt his full attention.  “They’re not. Going, I mean. We broke up. A little while ago now.”

“Oh,” Matt says, a little taken aback. He didn’t—he had no idea. He wants to ask why Foggy didn’t say anything but instead he says, “Foggy, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Foggy says. “But don’t worry about it. I’m doing okay.”

Matt can hear the lie and Foggy must see it on his face.

“Alright, I’m ‘okay’ in the sense of I know I _will be_ okay. It was pretty amicable, all things considered,” Foggy clarifies, truthfully.

“What—can I ask what happened?” Matt says.

He doesn’t know if he has the right to know, not yet, but Foggy doesn’t even hesitate. He doesn’t even consider hiding this from Matt, not even for a second.

“I think we’re just at two different points in our lives right now. Surprisingly,” he laughs a little sadly, “she’s the one ready to settle down and I—I thought I was. But…” He trails off and doesn’t sound like he’s going to finish the thought.

“Foggy,” Matt says, seriously. “I’m really sorry.”

Foggy tilts his head and stares at Matt for a few seconds.

“Are you okay?” He asks. When Matt doesn’t respond right away he adds, “Marci left like a good twenty minutes before you walked in. What exactly did she say to you?”

Matt needed to take some time to collect himself before coming up to the office. Mostly he had walked around the block and found a bench to sit on while he got himself under control.

He tries not to laugh at Foggy asking him if _he’s_ okay. The instinct, the one he’s had for decades, is for Matt to blame himself. If he wouldn’t have—He’s the reason Foggy left his high-paying, stable job and is back in a shitty little office with a handful of clients. He’s the reason that Foggy is rebooting his life instead of moving on to better things with Marci. He’s played no small role in fucking up Foggy’s plans yet again.

He takes a deep breath and thinks of what Marci said to him. Foggy is his own person and can make his own decisions. And they aren’t doing as poorly as they were before, with Foggy bringing over some of his clients with him him and the promise that HC&B would likely be kicking a few more (paying) cases their way as well.

Matt takes another deep breath. He’s not going to fuck this up.

“I’m fine. She didn’t say anything,” he lies. “I mean, outside of what she normally says to me.”

Foggy laughs.

“Yeah, I guess I forgot. You guys share a few too many…headstrong qualities.”

Matt tries not to think too hard on the type of people Foggy seems to collect.

“We always did better when you were there to soften us,” he says instead.

 

* * *

 

They make it to Josie’s again a few weeks later, huddled into the booth that’s become theirs when they go without Karen. They're hashing an old argument about a movie from law school. Foggy says that it’s the same person playing the character in both the movie and the television show that came after, Matt insists that it’s a different actor.

Foggy is wrong, of course. He knows he’s wrong (now), but he was convinced he was right when the show first started. Both of them had refused to look up the answer on the internet, wanting to convince the other person instead. It’s silly, he knows, but it makes him happy to pretend to be wrong.

Although, he guesses, Matt must have known the instant Foggy realized he was wrong and kept played along anyway.

“So,” Foggy says. “I’ve been thinking and I have some… questions.”

The air around Matt becomes so tense Foggy feels like he could bounce a quarter off of it. Since it would probably just ricochet off of Matt’s ridiculous abs and bean Foggy in the face, he doesn’t bother to dig the change out of his pocket.

“This isn’t going to be a fight or anything,” Foggy says, spreading his fingers out in a placating gesture. “I just—I guess I just want some clarification.”

Matt clears his throat.

“Alright,” he says hesitantly.

“Your built in lie detector,” Foggy says. “You’re telling me you knew every single time I lied to you? Every little white lie? Every time I told you your hair looked fine when really it looked like a squirrel had taken up residence overnight?”

So sue him, Foggy thought. Matt looked adorable with bedhead. He also had a tendency to flatten it as close to his scalp as possible back then. Foggy was really just doing him a favor.

Matt chuckles.

“No—it’s not—” He sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then complicate it for me,” Foggy says.

“You know how polygraphs work,” Matt says and Foggy nods. “And you also know that they’re rarely admissible in court.”

“Right, because they’re easy to fool and there are too many variables to account for to know if the results are legitimate.”

“Exactly,” Matt says.

“You’re saying you _don’t_ know when I’m lying.”

“That’s not—no. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that a polygraph test uses a lot of the same readings that I use. Biological processes, heart rates, things like that.”

“So… you’re no better than a polygraph machine then?”

“ _Foggy_ ,” Matt says, exasperated. “Will you let me finish?”

“I’ll allow it,” Foggy sits back in the booth, crossing his arms.  “Proceed.”

Matt’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“I use a lot of the same things as a polygraph, yes. I listen for a spike in someone’s heart rate, an increase in their blood pressure, a rush of adrenaline. On that level, yeah, I’m no better than a polygraph.”

“But,” Foggy can’t help but add.

“Two things, I guess. When someone takes a polygraph, they know ahead of time. They can prepare, they can convince themselves that their lies are the truth and fake out the machine. Of course, on the other hand, people get nervous. Someone might end up working themself into a panic and ruining the results of the test in the other direction. When they’re talking to me, they don’t have the luxury, or burden, of being forewarned.”

Which is the thing that bothers Foggy most about the whole situation, but he lets it go, not wanting to fight about it at the moment.

“What’s the other thing?” He asks instead.

“When I get, uh, mixed readings on someone, there’s the age-old standby.”

“What’s that?”

“Instinct,” Matt shrugs.

Foggy looks at Matt skeptically and Matt must be able to feel it.

“I don’t just listen to their hearts, I listen to my gut, too. Combined, it usually works out,” he says. Then he adds, “Instinct shouldn’t be ignored. You can’t tell me that Wesley, Healy—they didn’t set off every alarm bell you had?”

“Yeah, okay,” Foggy agrees. It’s a fair point. He still remembers how slimy he felt after sitting in the interrogation room with Healy. “But you don’t see anything wrong with that? As lawyers, we know that polygraphs aren’t admissible in court so why should it be any different with your bat ears?”

“I’m not trying to use my ‘bat ears’ in the court of law, Fog. I’m not going in front of a judge and telling the jury I know a witness is lying because I can hear their heartbeat,” Matt says. “Their pulse, their biological processes—they aren’t being submitted as evidence. I just use them to point me in the right direction. The same way you would use their facial expressions or a—I don’t know—a look in their eyes.”

“Alright,” Foggy says. “I understand.”

He actually does understand, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. The way Matt sighs, he’s guessed what Foggy is thinking.

“Look, Fog. It’s just part of who I am. I can’t—I can’t help that I can hear your heartbeat anymore than you can help looking at my face and knowing if I’m happy or not based on my smile. I’ve made peace with that. I’ve made peace with the… abilities I’ve been given. And I don’t think you realize, to be able to see you and Karen—to be able to look you both in the eyes—” He cuts himself off.

“I know it’s intrusive and creepy and all of the things I’ve been told over the years,” he says after a moment. “I try to give people their privacy when I can, and at least the the illusion of it when I can’t.”

“The illusion of it?” Foggy asks.

“What do you think is worse? For me to call you out every single time you said you didn’t drink the last bottle of beer or for me to just let it go and let you have the lie.”

There are… definitely a few things he’s lied about over the years that he hopes to god Matt doesn’t know about. And, Foggy supposes, if Matt does know about them, he would rather they both pretend he doesn’t. So, yeah, he gets it.

“Besides,” Matt adds. “I don’t have to listen to your heart to know when you’re lying.”

“What do you mean?” Foggy asks.

“You’ve been an open book since the day we met.”

“Yeah, well,” Foggy grumbles, “I’m a sucker for the whole handsome wounded duck thing, I guess.”

Matt lets out a short, ‘Ha!’ and take a sip of beer.

“Open book or not,” Foggy says. “Since it’s pretty much impossible for me to lie to you, I’m going to need something in return. If we’re going to keep trying to move forward, I mean. If you still want that.”

“Of course I want that.” Matt says immediately, then he pauses. “What do you need?”

“You need to promise to tell me the truth,” Foggy says.

Matt starts to reply but Foggy holds a hand up and continues, “Lies of omission count too, Matt. There are no loopholes here. Either you’re telling me the truth or you’re lying to me.”

Foggy takes a deep breath. “I know that’s very ‘do or do not there is no try’ but I’m not saying you need to tell me every thought that crosses your mind or that you need to turn in a minute-by-minute account of your day. You’re still—you can have your privacy and, like, your regular mild-mannered Matt Murdock secrets. I don’t need to know about the crush you have on the barista at The Jolly Goat or whatever. But if it involves the firm or you getting hurt—I need to know.”

The silence that follows gives Foggy hope. If Matt doesn’t immediately agree, maybe it means he’s actually thinking it through first. Maybe he’s actually thinking about if this is something he can do or not.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Okay. I can do that.”

Foggy takes a deep breath, thankful for the alcohol in his veins because he’s about to get real sappy.

“The private stuff, the personal stuff—the barista crushes,” he says. “I don’t need you to promise me anything about that but I do—I want you to know that you can still come talk to me about it. You’re still my best friend, I _want_ us to talk about that stuff.

“I want to know about your life, you know. Even if it’s related to your… nocturnal excursions. My problem wasn’t with your super senses or with the vigilante thing—” he stops when Matt pulls a face. “Okay, my problem wasn’t _only_ the vigilante thing. It was mostly the lying. The fact that you were my best friend for years and I realized in one moment that I hardly knew anything about you. Stick, Elektra… there was so much you didn’t tell me. And even then you only told me because you had no choice.”

Foggy still itches at the whole thing, the sense of betrayal. For years he thought he and Matt knew everything about each other. He had laid himself bare to someone, thinking they were doing so return, only to find out the joke is on Foggy because he knows absolutely nothing about the guy who’s been His Person for the last decade.

Foggy’s over that. Mostly.

Okay, he’s _trying_ to get over that.

“I might not always like what I hear but all of that… that’s still part of you. _He_ is still part of you. And I want to know you, I want to know my best friend.” Foggy says.

Matt’s eyes look suspiciously wet. He clears his throat.

“No—yeah. I—I want that too.”

“Alright then, we’re in agreement,” Foggy says. He sticks out a fist. “Best friends?”

Matt lets out a shaky laugh and dutifully bumps Foggy’s fist with his own.

“Best friends,” he says.

Foggy looks away when Matt tries to discreetly rub his eyes.

 _The illusion of privacy,_ he thinks.

 

* * *

 

Matt’s promise not to lie to Foggy is put to the test almost immediately when Jessica Jones shows up at their office two days later. He clocks her leaning against the brick wall outside of the shop as he comes around the corner.

“Heard you were alive again,” she says, flatly, and pushes off the wall as Matt walks up to the door.

“That does seem to be the case,” Matt agrees.

She’s silent for a moment before punching Matt in the arm. “Don’t do that again, asshole.”

Matt hisses and rubs his bicep. There’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow.

“Trust me, I’m trying not to,” he says.

Jessica follows him up to the office in silence. She pauses outside the doorway, no doubt looking at their old sign hanging haphazard on the wall. They’ve since taped a piece of printer paper underneath it with ‘& PAGE’ written in big block letters. She scoffs and takes a step inside, casing the room.

Karen’s already at her desk, tapping away at her computer.

“So, you’re a PI now?” Jessica asks.

The typing stops.

“Well, shit,” Karen says. “That would explain why they gave me these business cards with my name on them.”

Jessica doesn’t respond to that, looking around the office once more.

“I’m surprised you were able to find a bigger shithole than the last place.”

“Hey,” Foggy says, coming in the door behind them. “Only _we_ get to call it a shithole.”

“As a surveyor of shitholes, I just call it like I see it,” Jessica says.

Karen laughs and stands up, throwing her keys into her purse and grabbing her cellphone.

“I’ve got a meeting,” she says. “Please don’t burn down the building while I’m gone.”

Jessica watches her go, then turns back to Matt.

“Tell blondie if she ever wants some advice from someone who actually knows what they’re doing—”

“Holy shit, is that Jessica Jones offering to actually help?” Foggy asks. “That has to be a sign of the apocalypse.”

Jessica scoffs and turns back to Matt.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“Legal or…” Matt says.

“Or.”

“What’s going on?” Matt asks.

Jessica looks between him and Foggy.

“Do you want to talk about it in private?”

“No, you can talk in front of Foggy,” Matt says, shaking his head. He wants to think that he would just tell Foggy everything after the fact but he’s afraid of the habits that have had years to take root. He’s afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. It’s better to just avoid the possibility all together.

“Right,” Jessica says, drawing out the word.

They take a seat around the conference table where Jessica tells them about the rumors she’s heard, about how her latest client is into some deep shit and either isn’t telling Jessica everything she knows or is in way over her head. The whole thing reeks of a new group trying to take over the kitchen and since Matt’s had plenty of experience in that arena...

They set up a time and place to meet later that night and Jessica looks at Foggy, says, “Nelson,” and then walks out the door.

Foggy waits a few seconds before speaking.

“You know, I never considered superheroes having specialties,” he says. “If yours is organized crime, what do you suppose hers is?”

“Alcohol,” Matt says without missing a beat.

Foggy laughs.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.” He stands up and walks over to his desk. “Hey, Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“If you need, I don’t know, help or something—”

Matt makes a face.

“On a personal level, I mean. We’re not getting the firm involved, but if you need any help with, I don’t know, research or something. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes helps.”

Matt bristles against the idea of Foggy being involved at all, firm or not. But Matt remembers Foggy pointing out the abandoned railway tunnels when he was trying to track down the Hand. He’s not wrong about the fresh set of eyes. It might be useful, having someone to bounce ideas off of, completely away from the action.

“Yeah,” Matt says, reading the surprise off of Foggy from his agreement. “Yeah, that would be helpful. Thank you, Foggy.”

 

* * *

 

The three of them start going to Josie’s when they find the time and they manage to leave work in the office where it belongs and, slowly, the tension starts to bleed out of their dynamic.

Still, Matt sometimes gets this look in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe that Foggy wants to spend time with him. It breaks Foggy’s heart just a little.

He’s got that look right now, as Foggy stands by Matt’s desk waiting to see if he wants to join him that night. Karen’s busy trailing after some guy with a workman’s comp issue, so it’ll be just the two of them.

Matt hesitates long enough for Foggy to think that he might turn him down for some of his more violent nighttime activities, but eventually he nods and gives Foggy a brief little smile.

Foggy can admit to himself that it bothers him, a little, having no idea what Matt gets up to as Daredevil. Not that he knew much before, but he was kind of hoping that Matt would be a little more willing to share this time around, but Daredevil still seems to be the one topic they can’t quite broach. Even after Jessica’s visit and Matt accepted his offer of help, the closest they’ve come to talking about it is when Matt had to turn Foggy and Karen down one evening to go meet up with her.

Karen has no problem talking about it, though. She even makes a joke about borrowing Matt’s black Daredevil outfit for some of her P.I. work that startles a laugh out of all of them. But when it comes to Matt and Foggy, both of them seem to clam up. It’s like Matt is worried that there’s some sort of Daredevil limit he’s going to hit that will make Foggy run away, and Foggy just doesn’t know how to bring it up without sounding pushy.

So, they seem to be at a stalemate, more or less.

It’s almost a little like fate, then, that a half an hour after they get to Josie’s, in the middle of Foggy telling Matt about the pictures his mom had sent him from Tampa, Matt goes completely still. His grip tightens around his beer bottle on the table and he tilts his head slightly. His attention is quite obviously somewhere else.

Foggy lowers his voice.

“What is it?”

Matt clenches his jaw.

“Something’s happening out there, isn’t it?”

Matt doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

Foggy nods.

“Alright. I’ll cover the tab but you owe me a beer.”

“What?” Matt asks.

“ _Go_ ,” Foggy says.

“What?” Matt asks again.

“Wow,” Foggy says. “I never once thought I’d be the one sitting here trying to convince you to suit up. Get out of here, Murdock. Go be a hero.”

Matt stands up and then hesitates, like he might have something to say. Then he shakes his head and starts to leave.

“Wait!” Foggy says. Matt stops and turns towards him. “Just… text me when you get home, alright?”

Matt nods.

“Yeah—that’s. Yeah, I can do that.”

And then he’s gone.

*

Foggy’s phone goes off at nearly a quarter to three in the morning.

_Safe and sound._

He wants to ask if he’s hurt, he wants to know if Matt needs help with anything. But he’s not sure if he has that right, not yet.

He still makes a note to see about picking up a first aid kit.

Then he makes a note to call Claire and ask about what he should even put in a first aid kit.

 

* * *

 

Matt’s wakes up in a foul mood the next morning. He’s more or less uninjured, just some light bruising, but the attempted kidnapping the night before has him set on edge.

When he gets to work, he knows both Foggy and Karen can tell that he’s in a bit of a snit, but neither of them say anything. When they come back from lunch (Matt had said he had too much to do to join them) they come bearing gifts: Karen with his favorite coffee from St Kilda and Foggy with takeout.

“Oh,” Matt says to them both. “Thank you.”

“Who says I can’t provide for my family?” Foggy says, setting the bag down on Matt’s desk.

“Mm, yes. Big strong man. Carry one-pound plastic bag two whole blocks.” Karen nods solemnly before heading back to her desk.

“Excuse me, it was two and a half blocks,” Foggy says after her.

Matt thinks he’s going to leave as well, but Foggy surprises him and sits on the corner of his desk, arms crossed.

“What’s up, Matt?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to just pretend I can’t see the giant storm cloud above your head? It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and you’re at work surrounded by beautiful people. What’s with the hangdog face, Murdock?” Foggy asks.

“Ah, yes, I wonder how I could possibly forget about all of the eye candy in this place. Come here, let me take a better look at you,” Matt says pushing his glasses down his nose and leaning forward.

“You know, I would almost feel bad about that if I didn’t know exactly what your dating history looks like. What is it? Do attractive people smell better?”

Matt pushes his glasses back up and taps his nose.

“The nose knows.”

Foggy laughs.

“You’re full of shit. You know that, right?”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice,” Matt agrees.

Foggy turns serious.

“Really, Matt. What’s with the face?”

“It’s my face,” Matt says. He grabs a pen from his desk to give himself something to fiddle with.

“Dude, you look like someone killed your puppy. Which.. I guess, after seeing John Wick, it’s a good thing we never got you a dog, huh?”

“I’m not a big fan of guns.” Matt says. He knows Foggy wont drop it, though, so he sighs. “It was just—a bad night last night.”

Foggy’s heart speeds up.

“Are you injured?”

“No,” Matt shakes his head. “There was an attempted kidnapping. One of the guys got away in the chaos and I lost track of him afterwards. I tried, but...I couldn’t pick up the trail afterwards.”

Foggy’s silent for a moment.

“Kid’s okay though, right?”

“Yeah—yeah. I got her to her parents and waited until the police arrived to make sure everything went okay.”

“And you didn’t let the guy go on purpose, did you?”

“What?” Matt says, surprised that Foggy would think him capable of that. “Of course not! I managed to knock one of them out but the others ran. Why would you think—”

“I didn’t think you did,” Foggy says, calming Matt down before he gives himself heart attack.

“He shouldn’t have gotten away.” Matt says. He should have been paying better attention, he should have noticed when he ran for it—

“It’s possible to commit no mistakes and still lose,” Foggy says. “That’s not a weakness, that’s life.”

Matt recognizes Foggy’s quoting voice, but it takes him a second to place the actual quote. Matt barks out a short laugh. “Did you—did you just quote Star Trek at me?” He asks, incredulously.

“I should learn how to cross stitch,” Foggy says thoughtfully. “Then you could hang that quote above your bed. You’d be able to, like, touch it and feel what is says, right?”

“Foggy,” Matt says, smiling now.

“I have had a little bit of free time lately, maybe it’s time for me to learn a new hobby. What do you say, Matt?”

“And you call _me_ a nerd,” Matt says, still grinning.

“Ah ha!” Foggy exclaims. “Says the man who _recognized_ the Star Trek quote!”

By the time Foggy goes back to his desk, Matt’s heart is feeling lighter. Not for the first time, Matt wonders at the miracle that brought Foggy into his life.

 

* * *

 

Foggy was prepared for Matt’s foul mood and is pleasantly surprised that he was able to get a laugh out of him with a Star Trek quote.

He’s even more surprised when Matt comes over to his desk a few hours later.

“Sorry about running out on you last night,” Matt says.

“Well,” Foggy says, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know if it counts as running when I’m the one pushing you out the door.”

Matt chuckles.

“Either way. I owe you a drink.”

“This is true,” Foggy agrees. “You free tonight?”

“As a bird,” Matt says.

“Shouldn’t you say ‘bat’... I mean, all things considered?”

“Foggy,” Matt sighs.

“Right. A myth.” Foggy frowns. “Are there any actual blind animals?”

“Some kinds of moles, I think.” Matt shrugs.

Foggy makes a sound of disgust. “Yeah, no one’s going to be making a song called ‘free as a mole’.”

“No, probably not,” Matt agrees.

Foggy thinks about that for a little bit too long.

“So. Tonight?” Matt prompts.

“Oh—right! Yes, tonight. We need to build that tab back up before Josie forgets how much she loves us.”

*

Foggy points at the woman in a blue dress sitting alone in the corner of the bar.

“Can you tell what she’s thinking?” He asks.

Matt smiles and shakes his head.

“It’s not—it doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work, then?” Foggy asks, genuinely curious. Matt tried explaining some of it before, when emotions were running high. Foggy is definitely more willing to listen this time around.

“It’s just… deductive reasoning. Taking in all of the evidence and coming to a conclusion.”

“Then what _can_ you tell about her?”

Matt’s silent for a minute. He tilts his head a little, a movement that Foggy’s becoming more and more familiar with.

“She’s happy about whatever she’s reading on her phone.”

“Well,” Foggy says, looking at how she’s tapping on her phone and biting her bottom lip, trying not to smile. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I can’t,” Matt says simply. “But I can hear the haptic feedback from her phone as she’s typing, and I can hear the way her breath changes, the way her lips slide against her teeth when she smiles. Her heart rate is elevated.”

Matt stops talking but Foggy knows him well enough to know he’s holding back.  

“What else?” He prods gently.

Matt’s lips twist.

“Her clothes are new. They’ve been washed once, but the fabric is still stiff against her skin and I can smell the chemicals from the factory under the detergent. My guess is this is a second date. She’s still trying to impress. She’s anxious, but not nervous.”

“Your guess?” Foggy asks.

Matt shrugs.

“I don’t know her.”

“What does that mean?”

“It all—everything is easier when I know the person I’m reading. Everyone handles emotions differently. Take anger, for example. Some people get angry and become… a raging inferno. They stomp around, they throw things, they—”

“Dress up in red leather and do a batman impression?”

“Ha. Yeah, I suppose,” Matt says. “Others kind of… simmer. They go quiet. They plan and prepare and retreat into themselves. Some people do both, depending on the severity of the emotion. I don’t know her, personally, so I can only tell you the facts and then make a guess about what they mean. A pretty good guess, but a guess nevertheless.”

“I suppose that means you could recite my nightly beauty routine down to the minute, then.” Foggy says. “Not,” he adds, “that I need one. My beauty is _au natural_.”

Matt chuckles, then shakes his head.

“If I tried, I suppose. But it’s not… I’m not omniscient. I have to focus and attention is a finite resource. You remember trying to study for finals while in the middle of a Parks & Rec marathon?”

“Ugh,” Foggy says. “I remember the hit my GPA took.”

“Exactly,” Matt says. “But a better answer to your question… I know you walked down to Sullivan Street and bought a bomboloni after work two nights ago. And it’s not because I could smell it on your clothes yesterday, or because I overheard you ordering it.”

“How, then?” Foggy asks.

“You were stressing out all afternoon over that conference call… and when you get really stressed out, you always go for sugar.” Matt says.

“But how did you know I went to Sullivan Street?”

“Foggy,” Matt says. “You were talking about those stupid bombolinis for like an hour Monday morning. You practically had your craving written on a sign above your head. Not that I could see it,” he adds.

Foggy groans.

“Yeah, okay, but they’re _really_ good. I’m sure wearing spandex half the time means you’re probably watching your figure but you really need to learn to live a little.”

Matt laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Movement in the corner of the bar catches Foggy’s attention.

“Aw, look at that,” Foggy says. The woman in the blue dress is standing up to hug her date.

“I would, but...” Matt says.

“I’m giving you my unimpressed look right now,” Foggy says as he’s making the face. Then he asks, “Can you tell? Facial expressions, I mean?”

“Some,” Matt lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “The bigger ones, usually. Smiles, exaggerated frowns… when you stick your tongue out at me behind my back. Your ‘unimpressed face’? Not so much.”

“I assure you, it’s a thing of beauty,” Foggy says.

“There was never a doubt in my mind,” Matt agrees solemnly.

*

There’s a greasy bag from Sullivan Street sitting on Foggy’s desk when he gets to work the next morning. Foggy smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

He hopes Matt can hear it.

 

* * *

 

Matt’s doesn’t go out every night—he had meant what he said about the better work-life balance. Besides, without Fisk around as the puppetmaster, things are weirdly calm. It’s not a calm before the storm, either. It’s just… calm. Matt’s not delusional enough to think someone else won't eventually fill the void, but for once he’s an approximation of hopeful. He feels like he has time.

He also, surprisingly, feels like maybe, when things start to go bad again, he won’t be alone. Whether it’s Foggy and Karen back in the office, ready to listen, or it’s Luke or Danny or Jessica out on the streets with him. He has help. Even more surprisingly, he might actually _ask_ for help.

If only Stick could see him now.

So... he’s not going out every night. The handful of nights a week he does put on the suit, however, the first thing he does when he gets back into his apartment is take off his gloves and text Foggy.

_Safe and sound._

Foggy probably hadn’t expected Matt to keep texting him after he went out, when he asked the first time, but Matt kept finding himself reaching for his phone the moment he slid into bed until eventually the late night texts have become a thing. They don’t talk about it, but it settles something inside Matt, knowing someone out there is expecting to hear from him. He expects it settles something in Foggy, too.

There are pretty even chances on Matt getting a reply, but if he does it’s usually just a quick ‘ _Glad to hear it_ ’ or ‘ _Don’t let the bedbugs bite_.’

And while they’re no longer avoiding the topic of Daredevil, the conversations about him tend to revolve around Matt’s enhanced senses rather than what exactly he gets up to at night.

That all changes about a month after the first text.

He stumbles into his apartment from the rooftop door and has to sit down on his stairs to just… breathe. His hands are shaking too much for him to even take off his gloves. He’s not hurt, not really, there’s a cut on his forearm that could use a bandage but doesn’t need stitches, and he’s going to be feeling the bruise on his side for at least a week, but, ultimately, he’s not hurt.

Except… his hands are still shaking and he can’t seem to control his breathing which is coming too fast, too loud in his own ears.

He sits there and works on relaxing each muscle, one at a time, until he feels in-control enough to slip off his gloves and pull out his phone.

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to find his voice and compose the text.

‘ _Home._ ’

Foggy replies back almost immediately.

‘ _You injured_?’

‘ _No.’_

For a minute, Matt thinks that’s the end of the conversation. His chest tightens, not knowing what to do next. He hasn’t even taken off his mask yet.

Then his phone trills with a reply.

_‘Are you okay?’_

Matt has a ‘ _Yes_ ’ ready to send, a knee jerk reaction to deny, deny, deny but he stops before telling it to send. He breathes carefully for half a minute before rewriting the text. Foggy deserves the truth.

_‘No.’_

His phone rings. He steels himself against the instinct to ignore it, and flips it open.

“Foggy?” He must sound worse than he thinks because Foggy takes a full ten seconds to respond.

“What can I do, Matt?”

“I don’t—I can’t—” Matt can’t figure out what to say, doesn’t know what he wants.

“Do you want some company?” Foggy asks. “We can pull up some old boxing matches on YouTube or I’ve got a couple of new podcasts I’ve been listening to lately that I think you’d get a kick out of.”

Matt bites down against his normal excuses. It’s too late, it’s not Foggy’s concern, he’ll be fine in a couple of hours.

“Yeah—yes. Please,” he says instead.

“Alright. Give me twenty. Just don’t judge my pajamas when I get there.”

Matt lets out a sad sort of chuckle.

“I won't. Can’t see ‘em anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Foggy says.

*

Foggy shows up with a bottle of truly terrible whiskey from the all night bodega at the end of Matt’s block. They trade it back and forth, sitting on Matt’s couch.

They never get around to the boxing matches or the podcasts. Instead, after Matt’s had enough to make his muscles relax and his limbs go warm, he tells Foggy about his night.

He got too close to an explosion. For a few moments he couldn’t hear or smell or even taste anything. He was completely cut off. That was bad enough on his own, but it’s something he would’ve been able to get through well enough. But then… then there was the taste of blood and ash in his mouth. Then there was a ringing in his ears. Then, he’s thrust back underneath Midland Circle.

He’s thrust back under Midland Circle and he can feel it, the absolute certainty of his death. He can hear the thousands of tons of steel and concrete screaming above him, hurtling down as he stands there, ready and waiting to die.

Once Matt starts talking, it’s like a dam has been opened. He finds he can’t stop. Foggy is quieter than normal, listening intently, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He moves a couple of times, like he’s going to reach out and touch Matt but decides against it. Matt’s glad for that. He might shatter under the purity of Foggy’s touch.

It ends up being a long night. Matt talks about it all. He fills in all of the holes he knows Foggy’s been wondering about since the Castle case started. He tells Foggy about staying behind with Elektra, knowing they wouldn’t make it out of there. He tells Foggy about being taken to the orphanage afterwards, about losing most of his senses, about finding his mother.

Foggy stops breathing when Matt tells him about the metal pipe he handed over to the men who tried to abduct Kazemi. About how he knelt there, waiting, until the men ran away, frightened by a police siren.  About how the first thing Matt heard when he got his hearing back is Fisk’s release and Matt thought maybe he had been successful after all, that maybe he was in hell now.

Matt tells him everything, and Foggy listens to it all. By the time he’s done, Matt can taste salt in the air.

It’s only when he feels the warmth on his cheeks that he realizes the tears aren’t Foggy’s. They’re his.

Foggy reaches up and wipes at Matt’s cheek with his thumb.

“Oh, Matt,” Foggy finally says, his voice wet.

Matt goes willingly into the warmth of Foggy’s body as he’s pulled into a crushing embrace. Foggy rakes his fingers through Matt’s hair as Matt buries his face in the crook of Foggy’s neck and shudders.

“Are you okay?” Foggy asks, half an hour later when they’re bother calmer. Matt knows he isn’t just asking about tonight.

“No,” Matt says hoarsely, shaking his head against Foggy’s neck. “But I feel like… I might be someday.”

“I can work with that,” Foggy whispers, running his fingers through Matt’s hair.

It feels like absolution.

 

* * *

 

There are days when Matt comes in with a fresh black eye and Foggy just tuts at him and says one of them should probably take some cosmetology classes. They laugh when Matt jokes about Foggy volunteering himself because clearly the blind man wouldn’t be able to color match properly and surely it would be a little sexist to ask Karen.

Then there are days where Matt comes in looking rested, not a drop of blood or bruise to be seen, and somehow it lights a fire in Foggy’s chest. A fire that simmers and burns for hours before it threatens to rage out of him. He knows it’s not fair to Matt, he knows that Matt is actually doing his best, he’s really _trying_. He’s been open and honest and while there are some creaky stairs in their newly rebuilt house of friendship that they both try to hop over, ultimately—it’s _working_.

But… Foggy still has bad days. He knows better than to take it out on Matt, not when he’s trying so hard, so when the fire inside Foggy’s chest threatens to explode, he talks a walk.

Matt seems to know, or can at least make an educated guess at what’s going on in Foggy’s mind, because he never asks where Foggy is headed. Not that Foggy has a plan, anyway. Sometimes he’ll circle the block once or twice and the fresh air helps clear out his mind and he’s back in fifteen minutes. Sometimes he ends up at the park and has to sit on a bench for an hour before he can unclench his jaw.

One afternoon, when the fire in his chest turns into an inferno, Foggy finds himself staring up at Matt’s church. He hasn’t been since Father Lantom’s funeral, and before Matt’s disappearance, he was—well, lapsed would probably be too weak of a word to describe Foggy’s religious inclinations.

If he’s honest with himself, Foggy’s always been a little jealous of Matt’s faith. Jealous of his ability to believe in something so completely, jealous of the strength and determination that Matt seems to draw from it.

He contemplates sitting on the bench out front, but pauses as he watches a young woman walk inside. After a moment, he goes in too.

The relative emptiness is off-putting, too reminiscent of the handful of times he and Karen had sat alone in the wake of Matt’s death. He walks up the aisle and takes a seat somewhere near the middle. The woman who entered before him walks up to the votive to light a candle.

He sits in the near-silence and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing. Matt had mentioned, a few times, how meditation helped him. After Matt was… gone, Foggy had tried it himself, hoping for something to help fill the empty pit that had opened up inside of him.

It hadn’t worked.

At least now it was a useful tool to get his muscles to unlock. He works from his toes up, breathing slowly and tensing and untensing his muscles as he counts. When he reaches his shoulders, he’s startled out of it by a noise in the aisle.

“Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy looks up.

“Sister Maggie,” he says and tries to smile.

The look on her face both tells him that he failed and reminds him intensely of her son. Matt, who always looms so large in Foggy’s mind that sometimes it’s hard to believe he came from the slip of a woman standing in the aisle next to him. Then he remembers the steel of her nerve and the fire in her eyes the night she helped save Karen’s life.

“I didn’t realize you were Catholic,” she says, looking down at him.

“Once,” he says with half of a smile.

“Renewing your faith?” She asks.

“No—no, I don’t think so,” he shrugs. “I was hoping it might help. I guess—Matt seems to come here when he needs to gather his strength.”

Sister Maggie nods.

“Sometimes,” she says.

Foggy looks at her curiously. She motions to the pew and Foggy slides over to allow her a seat.

“Despite his initial resistance to the idea, I think he gets more strength than he knows from his friends,” she says like she’s confiding a secret.

It puts a balm on his anger, but only a little.

“What is it you need help with?” She asks.

Foggy is fairly sure it’s not cool to complain about your best friend to said best friend’s mom. In a church.

“This may not be a confessional and I may not be a priest, but whatever you have to say will stay between us,” she says, sensing his hesitation.

Foggy sighs.

“I… get angry, sometimes. And I know it’s not fair to the person I’m angry at, because they haven’t done anything for me to be angry _about.”_ Lately, he thinks. “But sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere.”

Sister Maggie nods.

“Some hurts run deep. And with everything that the you two have been through this past year,” she trails off.

“I know,” Foggy says. “I know that I’m… allowed to be angry. I know that I’m allowed to feel my emotions as I have them and that what really matters is what I _do_ about them. And I’m not—I don’t take it out on anyone, I’m just… tired.”

“Are you happier now?” She asks. The ‘with him in your life’ is unspoken.

“Overall? Yeah.” Foggy says, no doubt in his mind. “And, I’m not sure but… I think he’s doing better too?”

“He smiles more,” Sister Maggie says. “And I think that might be your doing.”

Foggy blushes a little at her tone.

“The world is an angry place these days,” she continues. “It’s up to you to wring out whatever bits of happiness, whatever good you can from it… and sometimes the bad gets tangled up with the good. You just have to decide if it’s worth it.”

Foggy sighs. The idea of pushing Matt away again isn’t even worth considering. His life, whatever complications arise, is better with Matt. _He_ is better with Matt.

“He’s worth it—he’s always been worth it.”

She pats the back of his hand before standing up.

“I may not know him as well or as long as you have, but I get the feeling he’s always going to be a… complex man to have in your life.”

“You’re not wrong,” Foggy laughs. It might be a little watery. “But worth it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she smiles at him. “And practicing Catholic or not, you’re always welcome here, Mr. Nelson.”

“Foggy, please,” he corrects. “And thank you.”

Foggy gets back to the office twenty minutes later with a lighter heart. He can see the exact moment when Matt figures out where he’s been, a little frown settling on his mouth. He’s almost pouting.

Foggy knows him well enough to know he’s dying to know why Foggy was with his mother but that he won't ask. And, it’s not so much that Foggy doesn’t want to tell Matt, but… while he won't take his anger out on Matt, it’s practically a best friend’s duty to be as annoying as possible.

So, he smiles to himself and keeps his mouth shut and lets Matt’s imagination run wild.

 

* * *

 

“You could probably get by without this, right?”

Matt assumes he means the way his hand is currently tucked into the warmth of Foggy’s elbow while they walk down to the precinct.

“Probably,” Matt agrees. “Most blind people get around just fine every day without someone around to lead them.”

“But, it’s nice.” He adds.

“So, I assume you can’t, like, somehow tell what the street signs say.”

“No,” Matt says. Or, at least, he doesn’t think so. He can’t remember ever having felt up a street sign to see if the lettering was raised.

“But you can hear the lights changing color or something, right?” Foggy asks.

“If I’m focusing on it,” Matt agrees.

Foggy’s taken to asking Matt random questions like this almost every day, like he’s trying to figure out the boundaries of Matt’s senses. It’s just curiosity, Matt figures. Foggy hasn’t changed the way he treats Matt at all based on the answers.

He has gotten a little more tactile with Matt lately, though. He no longer hesitates to reach out and pat Matt on the back, or pull him into a quick hug when he’s happy... or, like right now, settle his hand over where Matt’s holding his other elbow. Matt’s not about to say anything about it, though. Not the way his hand is tingling with the feel of Foggy’s skin on his own.

Foggy hums.

“Like I said, though, attention is a finite resource,” Matt says. “Would you rather me listen for the lights changing color or pay attention to you.”

Matt knows which one he prefers listening to.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Foggy says, patting Matt’s hand. “You know I love being the center of your world.”

“Aw, Fog. You’re always the center of my world,” Matt says.

He passes it off as a joke, laughing after he says it. He tries not to think of the truth he’s hiding inside of it.

*

They’re sitting on the bench inside the precinct, waiting to be let in to talk to their client when Foggy asks, “What can you tell me about this place?”

“What do you mean?” Matt turns his head towards him.

Foggy leans in a little closer, lowering his voice.

“I mean, what’s going on in here. Use your special senses and entertain me,” Foggy wiggles his fingers as he says ‘special senses’ and Matt laughs.

“It’s the Midtown Precinct, Fog. It’s more depressing than entertaining.” Matt says.

“Alright then, tell me what’s going on outside.”

Matt sighs but they’ve got nothing better to do, so he focuses and listens. He smiles.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s a theater across the street,” Matt says. “They must be holding auditions for a musical—but I don’t recognize the song.”

The singer overestimates his ability to hit a high note and Matt winces.

“That bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say you would have a better chance of getting the part than they do.”

Matt laughs when Foggy punches his arm.

“Excuse you, buddy. My voice is _amazing_ ,” Foggy says.

“ _So_ amazing that the RA in 1L forced us into remediation with our neighbors. You were just so good, they couldn’t stand it.”

“They were just jealous and you know it,” Foggy says.

“Of course,” Matt says sagely.

“Damn right,” Foggy says, then nudges Matt with his elbow. “What else?”

“There’s a man walking down the street with his daughter. She’s young, sitting on his shoulders. She’s giggling at something, but... I don’t know what.”

He listens and waits.

“Ah,” he says, finally. “Her other dad just met up with them. He was making faces at her from down the block.”

Matt is still smiling but Foggy is oddly quiet. Matt turns his attention back to him and can hear Foggy working up to whatever he’s about to ask.

“Do you think—is that a thing you want?” He finally asks.

“What’s that?”

“You know, kids and all that.” He can feel Foggy’s eyes on him.

Matt lifts one shoulder in a small shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says. “We—uh—Elektra and I talked about it once or twice, mostly joking around, but—I don’t know. Back then I would have said yes, but looking back, god we were so young and I was so swept up by her…” Matt trails off.

“What about now?” Foggy asks gently.

“It’s… yeah,” Matt says, honestly. “Yeah, I think it’s something I want. I’m not sure how realistic kids are, with what my, uh, _life_ is like but yeah. Someday.”

Matt’s suddenly struck by just how _strongly_ he wants it. But he knows he can’t, not yet. He clears his throat before speaking.

“What about you?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I don’t know when, but… someday. It’d be nice. My own little clan of Nelsons running around.”

“Oh, god, I didn’t think of it like that,” Matt says in faux-horror.

“Hey,” Foggy smacks him in the arm a little too loudly.

This, of course, results in the stink eye from no less than three people in the vicinity. Foggy quietly describes their expressions in great detail to Matt. They’re both still laughing to themselves when the officer comes out to escort them back to their client.

*

Their meeting takes longer than Matt expects and it’s getting dark out by the time they leave the precinct. Matt pauses on the sidewalk outside. He has an errand he wants to run tonight before he goes home. They’ll be closed before Matt can get there if he and Foggy head back to the office first and if they split up now Foggy will just ask why and it’s easier just to show him.

“Hey, Fog.” Matt says.

“What’s up?” Foggy asks, rifling through some papers in his briefcase before snapping it shut.

“Would you mind running a quick errand with me?”

Foggy stops and looks at him for a second.

“Uh—sure?” Foggy says, a little confused.

Matt knows it’s pretty rare that he actively asks Foggy for much outside of the office… but this is something he’s been wanting to talk about for awhile now, anyway.

They hail a cab and Matt gives the address to the driver as they slide into the backseat.

“Manhattan?” Foggy asks, staring at him. “What kind of errands do you have in Manhattan?”

“You’ll see,” Matt says with a small smile.

They ride in silence while Matt enjoys the veritable waves of confusion rolling off of Foggy. When they finally pull up outside of the store, he hears Foggy read the name quietly to himself, with no small amount of incredulity.

Matt pays the driver and climbs out of the cab, Foggy following silently behind him.

“Mr. Murdock!”

Matt smiles at the booming voice.

“Mrs. Bartelt,” he says, greeting the owner.

“Already working on your next project?” She asks from behind the till, helping another customer.

“Ah, not yet—you know how it is, though.” Matt says. He’s already spent a small fortune in the store.

She laughs and goes back to her customer.

Matt walks towards the back, Foggy trailing behind him. When they get to the wall Matt is searching for, Foggy inhales like he’s going to speak, then stops. He cycles through this a few times and Matt waits patiently.

“Okay,” Foggy says finally. “I feel like I just stepped into the twilight zone.”

“Did you know that Jessica Jones knits?” Matt asks.

“Oh my god, what.” Foggy says with glee.

“When she came to me for help awhile back, we spent a few nights on rooftops just waiting and listening for something to happen. So, to pass the time—”

“You’re telling me that Jessica Jones taught Daredevil how to knit in the middle of a rooftop stake-out.” Foggy says flatly.

Matt opens his mouth to say that’s not exactly how it happened but… “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it happened.”

“And apparently you kept it up afterwards, to the point that they know you by name at _Knitty City_.”

Matt shrugs.

“Wow,” Foggy says.

“It’s calming,” Matt explains. “It gives me something to focus on when things are… too much for me to handle otherwise.”

Foggy touches the yarn in front of him, making a quiet ‘oh’ sound when he feels how soft it is.

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense,” he says. “I guess I just have a couple of questions for you.”

“Proceed,” Matt inclines his head.

“Why bring me here?” Foggy asks.

“Two reasons,” Matt says. “While I didn’t think I was hiding this from you, or anyone, per se, I still felt like… I wanted to share this with you, I wanted you to know.”

Matt feels a flare of heat and realizes that Foggy’s blushing.

“What’s the second reason?” Foggy asks.

Matt smiles.

“I pick out the yarn by how it feels, but it would be nice to have someone help me with the colors. I usually ask someone who works here but, from what I’ve heard, you’ve stepped up your game fashion-wise so I guess I can trust your taste in this.”

“Hey, now. My fashion game was always up.” Foggy laughs, trailing his fingers across the yarn. “But, sure, I can do that.”

Matt smiles. “You said you had a couple of questions. What was your second one?”

“Oh,” Foggy says, pulling out a skein and inspecting it. “Are you any good?”

“Have you ever heard Jessica laugh?” Matt asks.

“I didn’t know it was physically possible for her to laugh,” Foggy says, a little confused by the apparent non-sequitur.

“Well, let’s just say that I have.”

“What does that have to do—oh,” Foggy cackles when the realization hits. “Oh no. Oh my god. You poor thing. Have we finally found something Matt Murdock is bad at?”

“Hey, now,” Matt says defensively, “I’ve gotten a lot better since then.”

Foggy laughs, and then laughs even harder when Matt sticks his tongue out at him.

They do, eventually, get around to picking out the yarn.

 

* * *

 

Foggy’s picking his way through some of the construction work that’s overflowing onto the sidewalk when he hears the sound of tires screeching and someone yelling. That’s enough to catch his attention, but considering the time—a little after midnight—and the fact that the street is otherwise empty, the hair on Foggy’s neck stands on end.

He walks up to the end of the block and peers around the corner carefully. It’s dark and he’s having trouble making out the details of the scene but it certainly looks like someone is being dragged against their will towards a running SUV.

Without thinking, Foggy grabs a piece of wood resting against the brick of the building and takes off running. He was hoping maybe, just maybe, he was misunderstanding what he was seeing, but when he catches the glint of streetlight off the knife in the man’s hands, he realizes he’s not that lucky.

He doesn’t second guess himself as he takes the final few steps, yells, “Hey!” and swings away.

The wood hits the man’s head with a resounding _thwack_ and then he falls to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Foggy’s left standing there, exchanging a surprised look with a frightened woman.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Her eyes widen in surprise before she can speak, staring at something over Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy glances behind him and feels his heart drop to his feet.

“Well, that wasn’t very smart,” says a very large man.

“Oh, shit,” Foggy says.

The very large man laughs in response. The very large man also has a gun. He raises his arm and cocks it, pointing it directly at Foggy’s head.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice growls from the darkness.

For all that Foggy knows about Matt, for all that Foggy knows about _Daredevil_ , he seems to be the only one out of their small social circle that has never really seen him fight up close. Sure, Foggy has seen him on screen and caught a glimpse from a distance once or twice, but it’s never been right in front of him.

It’s actually kind of… breathtaking. And not just in a holy-shit-don’t-die kind of way. It’s breathtaking in a holy-shit-I-didn’t-think-humans-could-move-like-that kind of way. Maybe with a little wow-that-costume-sure-is-tight thrown in the mix.

Matt just kind of… appears out of nowhere, bleeding into existence from the shadows.

Then, in under thirty seconds, Matt disarms their attacker, kicks the gun towards Foggy, dodges no less than three punches, does a probably unnecessary spin-kick, and has the man unconscious on the ground in front of them. It’s almost… graceful. It leaves Foggy standing there, a little stupefied, staring at Matt’s back whose shoulders are heaving with his harsh, loud breath.

“Wow,” Foggy says, glancing at the woman to see if she’s just as impressed as he is.

“Right?” She agrees, her eyebrows going up.

Matt turns around, takes an awkward half-step towards them, then stops.

“Are you—are you both okay?” He asks, still catching his breath.

Foggy nods a little dumbly.

“My life was just saved by a superhero in really tight black spandex, so I think this might be one of my better nights,” the woman says, sounding a little dazed.

Foggy has to stifle a laugh.

“Yeah, what she said,” he adds.

Matt’s face does a complicated dance, like he’s feeling too many emotions at once and doesn’t have enough space to accommodate them all.

“Are you okay?” The woman asks.

“What?” Matt asks.

“Your face is… doing a thing.”

“That’s just how his face is,” Foggy says, before he can think better of it.

“Oh, wow, so you guys know each other?” She asks, catching on quickly.

“No,” Foggy and Matt say in unison.

“Right,” she says. “That was very convincing.”

“Mister..” Matt starts, turning towards Foggy and tilting his head expectantly.

“Nelson,” Foggy replies.

“Mr. Nelson, do you mind if I speak to you? In private?”

“Uh, sure? I guess?” Foggy says.

“Really, guys?” The woman scoffs. “You can drop the pretense. I’m not going to say anything, you just saved me from whatever the fuck that was—”

“Human trafficking,” Matt states.

“Holy shit,” she says. “Okay. Well. That’s—I’ll be adding a couple of extra therapy appointments to my calendar in the near future so that’s great, that’s good. But do you really think that I’m going to say ‘hey, thanks for saving me from being sold on the black market’ by calling up the Bugle and outing you?”

Foggy needs to curtail this whole conversation so Matt can run away before this becomes a bigger problem.

“Hey, do you have your phone on you?” He asks her.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Can you call the police while I go to talk to this masked vigilante who is a complete stranger that I have never before met in my life?”

She laughs. “Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll come back and wait with you until they arrive just… give me a minute.”

Foggy grabs Matt’s arm and leads him far enough away that he can keep on eye on her while they talk quietly.

“Well, that wasn’t obvious at all,” Matt says.

“I don’t see anyone handing you an Oscar,” Foggy says.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Matt laughs. Then he’s serious again, “Are you okay… really?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I mean—I won't lie, being held at gunpoint isn’t exactly my favorite activity, but aside from the splinter in my finger, I’m okay.”

Matt reaches out and takes Foggy’s hand between his own, his eyebrows furrowed. Foggy smiles.

“Are you seriously trying to check out my splinter right now?”

Whatever Matt is about to respond with is interrupted by a police siren piercing through the night. It’s surely too soon for it to be for them, but it makes them break apart all the same. Foggy takes back his hand and pushes lightly at Matt’s arm.

“You need to get out of here,” Foggy says.

Matt hesitates. “Are you sure you’re okay? What were you even doing out here so late?”

Foggy bristles at first, but takes a deep breath. Matt’s tone isn’t accusatory, he’s just curious… and maybe a little worried. Still, Matt doesn’t need to know the exact details of his midnight craving.

“You know,” he considers, looking at Matt. “It’s much easier to stand up to your bullshit when you’re wearing a mask,” Foggy says. “Maybe you should wear that thing all the time. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this but you’ve got these big… puppy dog eyes—”

“Puppy dog eyes?” Matt asks, amused.

“Ugh, I can picture them now.” Foggy sighs. “They’re just so big and earnest all of the time.”

“I have… earnest eyes?”

Foggy’s about to say something about how he’s pretty sure Matt could talk career criminals into a life of purity if he just looked at them and batted his stupid, earnest eyelashes (Foggy speaks from experience—there’s actually very little Foggy wouldn’t do when faced with Matt’s earnest look), but the siren grows a little too close for comfort and saves Foggy from himself.

Foggy gives one more shove to Matt’s arm.

“Shoo, vigilante, don’t bother me.”

This time, Matt actually goes. With a smile on his face, to boot. Foggy watches him scale the side of the building and disappear over the rooftop before he goes back to stand near the woman.

“Yep,” She says, looking at the spot where Matt disappeared over the roof. “Two total strangers just standing there having a private conversation while holding hands.”

“I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Foggy says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Uh huh,” she picks at her fingernails. “So… what’s he actually like? Daredevil?”

Foggy’s silent for a moment.

“Frustrating,” he states.

“Yeah, I could see that being the case.” She laughs, then adds, “But also… kind of badass, right?”

“Very badass, unfortunately,” Foggy sighs. “It makes it hard to stay angry at him.” He hopes Matt can hear the truth in his heart, knowing that he’s probably creeping on a rooftop nearby, listening in.

“Also, that outfit. Wow. Those pants don’t hide a thing.”

“Uh… what?” Foggy asks. Surely, he has no idea what she’s talking about. He definitely hasn’t noticed how tightly the cling to Matt’s rear himself. He’s never paused a YouTube video of Daredevil at just the exact right moment and then quickly hit play when he realized he was creeping on his best friend. Nope.

“Uh huh, sure,” she says, and then elbows Foggy softly in the side. “Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”

Foggy looks at her incredulously.

“Who even _are_ you?” He asks.

“I don’t know anymore,” She says. “Let’s just count this all as part of the whole ‘shock’ thing, okay?”

“Deal,” Foggy agrees.

*

An hour and a half later, Foggy is finally safe and sound in his apartment. He’s changed into his pajamas and is debating whether or not he would actually be able to sleep if he goes to bed when there’s a sound at his window.

Of course.

“Seriously, Matt? I’ve already gotten the splinter out and everything,” he says as he crosses the room and opens the window. “I told you I’m fine.”

“I know,” Matt says, crawling through the window before turning around to shut it behind him. He takes a deep breath and faces Foggy, pulling off his mask. “But… it would make me feel better, just to—seeing my best friend held up at gunpoint isn’t exactly my idea of a good time either, Fog.”

Foggy’s impressed by Matt’s honesty and forthcomingness. Impressed enough that he won't even mention that maybe that’s how _he_ feels too, every time he sees an article about Daredevil.

“Yeah, okay. I get that. Do you want to stick around for a bit? I can lend you some sweats to change into… unless you’re going to cartwheel back out into the night?”

“Would you mind?” Matt asks quietly.

“If you stayed?”

“Yeah,” Matt says.

Foggy, who wants nothing more than for Matt to stick around forever and always, just says, “Not at all. Let me go grab those pants.”

*

“Want a beer?” Foggy asks when Matt’s finally got himself settled on the couch. “Or are you going to need to be sober later?”

“No,” Matt says. “A beer would be good, I think.”

Foggy grabs a couple of bottles from the fridge and pops off the caps. He passes one to Matt as he walks by to take his seat on the couch next to him. They sit in silence for a little while, sipping at their beers… Foggy gets the weird feeling that Matt might be sitting there listening to his heartbeat. He’s strangely okay with that.

After a couple of minutes, Matt clears his throat.

“So,” he says. “Badass, huh?”

“Oh my god,” Foggy’s scrubs his face with both hands. “So the real reason for your visit has revealed itself. You just want your ego stroked, you little narcissist.”

Matt chuckles and then says, seriously, “No. Not really. But.. it was nice to hear you say that.”

Foggy purses his lips, figuring out how best to phrase what he wants to say. It’s late, he can feel a buzz starting beneath his skin, and he might still be a little wound up from the events of the night.

“I mean—we both know that I have my issues when it comes to the whole vigilante thing but I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” he says. “While I don’t think I’ll ever be, like, actively endorsing your illegal and violent tendencies, it is… kind of cool. My best friend being a superhero and all that.”

“I’m not a superhero, Fog,” Matt says quietly.

“Hey, look. Do you really want to argue semantics with me or can you just accept the compliments I’m raining down upon you, you dick?”

Matt laughs, smiling wide. It’s not quite there yet, Matt’s laugh. It’s not the laugh that Foggy’s been missing, but it’s getting closer.

“You’re still wearing the black pajamas, though. Do we need to call up our local BDSM dealer and ask about getting you a new suit?”

“That’s not—” Matt huffs another laugh. “That’s not how any of that works, Fog.”

“What?” Foggy shrugs. “How would I know? I’m pure as the freshly driven snow.”

Matt rests his head on the back of Foggy’s couch and grins up at the ceiling.

It’s a sight Foggy could get used to.

 

* * *

 

There’s a stillness in the air. The summer heat is slowly giving way to fall. It’s not cool enough to be uncomfortable for Matt, not yet, but it’s not far off. He’ll have to get a new suit before then. For now, Matt takes a deep breath and enjoys the breeze. Across the street, a familiar heartbeat makes itself known.

*

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this roof taken?” Matt asks, landing softly.

Karen jumps and turns around.

“Holy shit,” she says, laughing when she recognizes Matt.

“Sorry,” Matt says with a shrug.

“Liar,” Karen says with a grin.

He takes a seat next to her, a spread of coffee and electronics between them.

“Any luck so far?” He asks.

She shakes her head.

“He’s been holed up inside with his shades pulled most of the night. I know he’s still up though, his lights are on and I see his shadow moving around every once in awhile,” she says.

She sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Matt was about to head in for the night, having heard nothing more than a couple of attempted muggings that he broke up quick enough, so he sees no reason he can’t keep her company for a little while. He takes off his mask and scrubs at his hair, his scalp prickling at the cool air hitting the thin layer of sweat.

He can feel Karen’s gaze on him, hears her breathing change. He waits.

“You seem happy,” she says.

Matt can’t help the smile that plays on his lips. He shrugs.

“Foggy seems happy too,” she adds.

Matt ignores the way the tips of his ears heat up.

“We’ve been… talking.  A lot.”

“I know,” she says, smiling, resting her cheek on her knees.

“Are you?” He asks.

“Am I what?”

“Happy.”

Karen’s silent. She inhales and sits up straight, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I think I am.”

There are a lot of things they haven’t talked about yet. Like the way Karen sometimes shows up to the office smelling of gun oil and leather, an undercurrent of kevlar mingling with the scent of her conditioner. But It doesn’t chafe at him, not the way it might have before.

Neither of them are the same people they were a year ago. Whatever they might have had, whatever bright and beautiful thing had been blossoming between them, has faded into something else, something deeper and more immovable. Matt’s thankful for it, even if he’s unsure of how he feels about Karen’s current choice of partners.

But, he has long since realized that it is, in fact, her choice to make, not his.

“So we’ve settled it. All three of us are happy,” Matt says.

“Wow. I’m not sure any of us know how to handle that,” Karen says, smiling.

Matt laughs.

“No, probably not. But I’m sure we can all figure it out together.”

He holds out his fist. It takes a second for Karen to realize what’s going on, but the delight in her laughter warms his heart as she lightly bumps her fist to his.

They sit on the rooftop talking for another hour, trading anecdotes, talking about cases… Karen asking a few clarifying questions about his sense and what Daredevil might be working on. It’s nice. It’s relaxing, even.

The conversation lapses eventually and they sit in comfortable silence until Matt grabs his mask and starts to pull it on.

“Calling it a night?” Karen asks.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I should let you get back to work. I think your guy is about to come outside.”

“Oh, shit,” Karen says and grabs her camera.

Matt laughs and heads towards the fire escape.

“Hey, Matt?” Karen says softly.

He stops, and turns his head in her direction.

“I really am happy, you know.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “I am too.”

 

* * *

 

Fall has officially arrived, the weather has turned cool and the leaves on the trees are slowly starting to turn colors. Occasionally, though, the tendrils of the dying summer still manage to make themselves known.

Foggy glances over where Matt’s sitting on the grass, leaning back on his hands with his face tilted in towards the sun. It’s warm enough that he’s wearing a t-shirt and his arms are blessedly free of bruises and cuts. It’s been awhile since Foggy has seen Matt outside of a suit, red leather or otherwise, and the only word he can think of as he watches Matt is ‘soft’.

Most likely sensing Foggy’s stare, Matt turns his head towards Foggy and wiggles his eyebrows.

Soft enough so that his Aunt Rebecca (who’s currently extolling the health benefits of some kind of oil) can’t hear him, Foggy says, “Nerd.”

Matts responding grin is almost as bright as the sun.

Foggy’s insides get a little squishy and he nods a couple more times at his aunt before making his excuses. He swings by the cooler to grab a couple of beers, and then plops himself down in the grass next to Matt, handing him one of the cans.

“You really need to have a talk with your aunt about multi level marketing scams,” Matt says.

“I’ve tried but I think those wraps she sells squeeze her so hard that anything I say just falls right back out of her head.”

Matt laughs, throwing his head back, his face open and happy. It sparks something deep and warm in Foggy’s chest and he finds himself grinning in return as he watches. There’s a distracting strip of skin visible above Matt’s belt, where his shirt has ridden up.

A shriek pierces the air and Foggy turns to watch as his niece runs away from his nephew, who seems to be holding a frog. They run circles around a tree before she spots Matt and Foggy and possible salvation.

“Uncle Matt!” She yells, launching herself into Matt’s midsection when she’s close enough. Matt goes flying back into the ground with a soft ‘oof’.

“Hey,” Foggy says sternly, trying not to laugh. “Matt is not a jungle gym, Ryan.”

“Sorry,” she says, obviously not sorry at all. She positions herself in Matt’s lap as he sits back up. “Uncle Matt, save me!”

Matt laughs.

“You’ll have to tell me what I’m saving you from, sweetheart,” he says.

“Teddy’s got a frog!”

“A frog!” Matt gasps. “Oh no!”

Foggy watches as Ryan uses Matt’s cane to fend off Teddy, Matt carefully holding on to the end to make sure no actual damage is done.

Foggy smiles as he mirrors Matt’s earlier position, turning his face up towards the sky.

It really is a beautiful day, he thinks. Foggy finds himself hard-pressed to find something to worry about. Matt’s been showing up to work with fewer bruises and whether that means he’s being more careful or he’s going out less or the criminal underworld isn’t hitting quite as hard, Foggy couldn’t care. He’s just happy for Matt’s relative good health.

On top of that, it finally feels like they’re back where they were, before Fisk—before they both seemed to do nothing but hurt each other. In fact, Foggy thinks they might even be better.

He can see how hard Matt is trying, which—that’s not even the right way to phrase it. Foggy can see how Matt doesn’t even _have to_ try anymore. He sees how Matt doesn’t even think twice before telling Foggy about all of the things he used to hide before.

Eventually, Teddy has been defeated and Ryan runs off to grab a popsicle after planting what sounds like a very wet kiss on Matt’s cheek.

“You sound happy,” Matt says, wiping his face.

The sun is shining and Foggy’s got his best friend sitting next to him.

“Today’s a good day,” Foggy says.

 

* * *

 

Matt makes a circuit of Hell’s Kitchen one final time before calling a night, checking up on both Karen and Foggy, making sure they’re both safe before heading back. He doesn’t linger, the only thing he listens for is their heartbeats to make sure everything is okay, and then he’s on his way again.

He doesn’t do it out of necessity, there’s no compulsion driving him and if either of them asked him to stop he would. It’s just… nice. Reassuring. A familiar comfort at the end of a long night.

He tells them both, of course. He doesn’t think Foggy would count it as a lie of omission if he _didn’t_ , but it makes him feel better that they know.

“Huh,” Karen says. “I guess I figured you were doing something like that anyway. I just didn’t expect you to tell us.”

“I’m trying out a new thing,” Matt says.

“Honesty?” She asks.

Her tone is light enough that he knows she’s mostly joking. Matt smiles and shrugs in agreement.

Foggy’s leaning back in his chair. Matt can feel his eyes on him.

“I’m just going to chalk this up to your version of Facebook stalking,” Foggy says. “Just don’t start listening in on my dreams.”

Matt laughs.

“I’ve told you—that’s not how it works.”

“Why, Foggy,” Karen adds coyly. “Whatever are you dreaming about?”

“Ms. Page, I’ll have you know that my dreams, as wild and colorful as they are,” Foggy pauses dramatically, “are none of your business.”

“And just what _color_ are they these days, Mr. Nelson?” Karen asks, like she knows a secret. She bats her eyelashes.

Foggy’s heart picks up and Matt’s chest tightens, remembering what Marci had told him about Foggy’s nightmares… but then he feels the uptick in temperature as Foggy’s face heats up. Whatever dreams they’re referring to aren’t about Matt anymore.

“Like I said, _Ms. Page_ ,” he says, “that’s none of your business.”

“Mmhmm,” she says and goes to take a seat at her desk.

“Sounds like I missed an interesting conversation somewhere along the line,” Matt says. He’s more than a little intrigued at what dreams Foggy’s been sharing with Karen that he hasn’t told him about.

“It’s entirely possible,” Foggy agrees. “And you know what I have to say about that?”

Matt holds his hands up in surrender, laughing.

“None of my business, right?”

“I knew you graduated summa cum laude for a reason.”

*

Matt’s on a rooftop across from Foggy’s apartment, on his way home, when he notices Foggy’s heartbeat is faster than normal. He stops for a second, just to make sure there’s nothing wrong.

Satisfied that Foggy is okay, even if he is awake at three in the morning, Matt’s ready to head home.

He hesitates and listens longer. When Foggy takes a seat on his couch in the living room instead of heading back to bed, Matt makes up his mind.

He vaults over to the roof of Foggy’s building and makes his way quietly down the fire escape and lightly taps on the window.

Foggy looks over and Matt can’t see it, can’t even sense it, but he knows in his bones that Foggy is rolling his eyes at him. He listens as Foggy gets up and walks over.

“Romeo, Romeo!” Foggy says dramatically, opening the window. “Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair?” Matt returns from the fire escape.

“Rapunzel wishes she had my hair,” Foggy says, stepping back to let Matt in. “I hope you know if you’re here trying to steal my virtue, that boat sailed over a decade ago.”

“Trust me,” Matt says as he slips inside. “I have no illusions about the state of your virtue.” He lets the implication sink in.

“Oh. Yikes,” Foggy says. “Sorry.”

Matt closes the window behind him.

“Can’t sleep?” Matt asks.

“I may have made a mistake with my caffeine consumption while working late tonight.”

Matt laughs and takes off his helmet. “Want some company?”

Foggy shrugs.

“Sure, why not? Let’s both be completely useless at the office tomorrow.”

An hour later, they’re both working on becoming one with the couch as Foggy describes the truly awful acting in late night infomercials.

“Hey,” Foggy says suddenly. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Matt shrugs.

“I’ve got some tenderloin in the freezer that I need to do something with soon or I’ll have to throw it out. Want to share in a culinary experience with me?”

“Uh,” Matt hesitates.

“Alright,” Foggy says, “before you mention the noodle incident let me remind you that I am now a fully grown adult who has been living on his own for years. I _can_ actually make a passable meal.”

Matt holds his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar.”

Matt snickers then says, “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” Foggy adds. “It’s a date.”

*

Matt is startled awake a couple of hours later by the garbage truck emptying a dumpster down the street and winces at the pain in his neck when he lifts his head. He's too old to sleep that position. Forget the seedy underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil’s real arch nemesis is age.

There’s something soft between his fingers and he rubs it between his fingers, taking stock of his surroundings.

At some point in the night, both of them must have drifted off. Foggy’s head now lies in Matt’s lap, with Matt’s fingers threaded gently through the soft strands of hair. The comforting, rhythmic noise Matt had been half-heartedly listening to establishes itself as Foggy’s soft, peaceful snores.

There are no nightmares to be found here.

Matt smiles to himself and runs his fingers through Foggy’s hair a few more times. Foggy snuffles slightly. Matt lets himself live in the moment for a couple minutes before reality creeps into his awareness. He really needs to get home and take a shower and find work appropriate clothing.

“Foggy,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind Foggy’s ear.

“Mmm,” Foggy says.

“I gotta go.”

“Nnnggh,” Foggy mumbles. “Comfy.”

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Matt says, grinning. He tugs on Foggy’s hair lightly.

Foggy lifts his head enough for Matt to scoot out from underneath him and place a throw pillow in his spot. Foggy’s definitely not completely awake, but he still asks softly, his voice rough with disuse, “Do you need human clothes?”

Matt grabs the blanket off the back of the couch.

“It’s early yet, there aren’t too many people out. I’ll be fine if I stick to the roofs.” He drapes the blanket over Foggy, who hums appreciatively and then rolls over to hide his face from the creeping sunrise in the back of the couch.

Matt has one leg out of the window when Foggy calls his name softly.

“Yeah?” Matt asks.

“Text me when you’re home safe,” Foggy says.

Matt closes the window as silently as he can.

The air is brittle, winter starting to settle in, and the sun hasn’t quite yet risen, but the feeling in Matt’s heart keeps the chill away all the same.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, that actually smells good,” Matt says as Foggy opens the door.

“Rude,” Foggy says without any real heat. “I didn’t invite you over and offer to feed you just to be insulted.”

“Did you know I still have a scar on the inside of my wrist from the noodle incident? I feel like I’m allowed to be surprised at this turn of events.”

Foggy stares at him silently for a moment then shrugs, Matt’s got a point.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

Matt holds up the six-pack of Foggy’s favorite beer.

“And now you’re forgiven,” Foggy says brightly, taking the beer from Matt and turning around to head back to the kitchen, knowing Matt will follow after him.

Matt hangs up his coat next to Foggy’s, and then brushes his fingers along the scarf already hanging there, smiling. Matt had given it to him about a month ago and Foggy was hard-pressed to think of a day he went outside that he didn’t grab it. It’s definitely got a few dropped stitches and a noticeable… curve when it’s laid out flat, but it’s warm and it’s in Foggy’s favorite colors and _Matt_ made it for him so by default that makes it the best scarf Foggy has ever owned.

Matt eventually walks over to the kitchen where he immediately makes a nuisance of himself under the guise of ‘helping’. By the time everything is ready, Foggy’s had to smack Matt’s hand with a spatula no less than three times and Matt’s got a permanent grin on his face.

“Wow,” Matt says after he takes his first bite.

Foggy might actually preen a little.

“Yes, please do tell me how wrong you were about my cooking skills.”

“So very wrong,” Matt agrees, mumbling around a mouthful of food. It’s hilariously unattractive and still somehow adorable.

Dinner passes pleasantly, with good beer, great food, and even better company. Matt helps Foggy clean up afterwards, moving casually from the dinner table to the kitchen in perfect sync like they’ve been doing this for years. And while they’ve shared many meals before, Foggy doesn’t think the microwave dinners shared on the floor of their dorm room or the ramen and frozen pizza from the year in a shared apartment immediately post-grad really counts.

They end up on Foggy’s couch watching some old boxing match on ESPN with the last two bottles of beer on the coffee table. Matt’s sunk pleasantly into the couch listening to Foggy’s commentary.

“Oof, and down he goes with the counterpunch!”

Matt rolls his head towards Foggy.

“When did you become an expert on boxing?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never really shown any interest in it before, but you seem to know what you’re talking about.”

Foggy knows his body must be sending all sorts of signals because Matt makes a face and then sits up straight, turning towards him.

“I wasn’t interested in it before,” Foggy says.

“But you are now?” Matt asks.

“Not so much.”

“Then what…” Matt shakes his head.

Foggy sighs.

“You died,” he says, noticing Matt’s flinch. “You died and I went on a road trip through the seven stages of grief and spent a hell of a lot of time being angry at—well, everything. And I guess I just figured that punching things seemed to work for you, in a manner of speaking, so I took some lessons.”

“You took boxing lessons?” Matt asks. Foggy can’t quite figure out the tone.

Foggy shrugs.

“For a couple of months. I think it helped a little but it wasn’t really my thing. It was empowering, though. Learned a thing or two.”

Foggy’s content to leave it there but Matt tilts his head and Foggy knows he’s listening to his heart.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Matt says.

He already knows Matt’s going to take it poorly. He also knows Matt’s probably not going to let this particular conversation drop.

“It’s not a big deal,” Foggy says, eventually. “But you have to promise not to freak out on me.”

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“You understand that I feel like those two sentences are contradictory, right?”

“I understand that I have an overprotective vigilante superhero as a best friend who tends to overreact.”

“Alright,” Matt says slowly. “You might have a point.”

Foggy inhales and decides the best approach is the direct approach.

“You remember at the Bulletin? After Poindexter knocked you out?”

Matt nods.

“I managed to get in a couple of hits before he knocked me out too.”

Matt inhales sharply and goes tense all over.

“You… punched him?”

“What was I supposed to do, Matt?” Foggy asks softly. “Just stand there and wait for him to kill all of us?”

“I don’t know—I don’t—I should’ve been there,” Matt says, suddenly. “I should have stopped him before he ever even got to that room.”

Foggy can see a look in Matt’s eyes that he hasn’t seen for months and he hates it.

“No,” Foggy says. “Don’t start this again. You are not perfect, you are not Superman. Sometimes shit happens and sometimes that shit really sucks, but it’s not your fault.”

“Not my fault?” Matt laughs darkly. “It’s not my fault that Fisk sent a man in a Daredevil suit after you and Karen? How is that anything _but_ my fault?”

“You are not the only person with free will, Matt! At any point along the way Karen and I could have chosen differently, we could have tucked tail and run, but we didn’t.”

Matt’s shaking his head.

“You don’t get it, Foggy. I need you—I need you to be safe. And maybe—”

“That’s not up to you!” Foggy yells and Matt stops talking. Foggy stands up. “Jesus Christ, Matt. This is _my_ life. I get to make my own decisions! If you decide suddenly that having me in your life isn’t good _for you_ , fine, okay, it’ll fucking suck but that’s your decision to make. But you don’t get to decide for me.

“I know some of things I get into—some of the things that _we_ get into—aren’t going to be safe. But that’s _my choice._ And maybe I don’t _like_ safe!

“God, even when you weren’t around… even when I thought you were _dead_ , I still ended up knee deep in vigilante bullshit. Maybe I don’t _want_ safe, Matt. Maybe, right now, I’m not meant for the white picket fence with two point five kids. Maybe, right now, I’m meant to be the guy in the corner of the ring cleaning up the guy getting his face punched in. And if that means I take an uppercut here and there because I get a little too close to the action, then I can fucking deal with that!”

Foggy’s breathing heavily, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He takes a moment to gather himself before he speaks up again, softly.

“And you _need_ someone in your corner, Matt. You know this by now, I know you do. You’ve tried so many times to go it alone but every time, every single time, we all somehow end up back together.”

He rubs his face with his hands and sits back down next to Matt, who still hasn’t said a word, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. It’s not exactly comforting, but at least he hasn’t started to argue which is reassuring.

“None of us got where we are solely by pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps,’” Foggy says, softly. “We got here because somebody bent down and helped us pick up our boots. I’m just here trying to help you pick up your boots, Matt.”

Matt makes a noise.

“That’s your quoting voice—Did you just quote Thurgood Marshall at me?”

“I think it was more of a paraphrase,” Foggy says, shrugging. “You’re the one that has his entire life’s work memorized.”

Matt doesn’t say anything in response, but at least his fists aren’t clenched anymore. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees instead, head dipping forward.

“Look,” Foggy says, “I hate seeing you covered in bruises and I’m still terrified I’m going to walk in on you laying in a pool of your own blood, only this time it’ll be too late for me to help.”

“I know, Foggy,” Matt whispers.

“I’m never going to be okay with you getting hurt, Matt. Just like I know you’re never going to be okay with me being in any kind of danger.”

Matt sighs and Foggy can feel the weariness in his bones.

“Maybe we just accept that neither of us are going to be one hundred percent happy with the situation. But maybe we can also… accept that it’s necessary. For both of us.”

Foggy reaches out and lays his hand on Matt’s forearm. He tries to ignore the tremble he feels beneath his fingers.

Matt takes a deep breath.

“You know… I’m going to fail again. I’m going to fuck this up.”

Foggy nods.

“Yeah, probably,” he says. “But I’m sure that I’m going to do something to piss you off too. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually perfect.”

Matt makes a noise that’s not really a laugh but it’s close enough that the tightness in Foggy’s chest eases.

“We’re both going to fuck up and we’re both going to piss each other off… we’ll just cross those bridges when we come to them, Matt. But I want to at least try.”

Matt huffs an actual laugh this time.

“Now it really does sound like we’re getting married.”

Foggy grins and is secretly glad his heart is already racing.

“Hey, Fog.” Matt says quietly.

“Yeah?”

Matt sits back up and Foggy takes his hand back. He looks tense again, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s about to make a run for the window. Matt starts rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, a nervous tic that Foggy’s not sure if he’s aware of.

“I want to—I want to try. But I need you to know—you know how you said you wanted to know about the personal stuff. The barista crushes or whatever?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says hesitantly.

Matt’s silent and Foggy can feel the atmosphere shift around them.

It’s rare that Foggy’s been able to pinpoint a life-changing moment as it happens (funny how they always seem to involve Matt, though) but he knows what Matt’s about to say is going to be one of those moments. It’s a little hard to breathe under the weight of that knowledge.

“What if,” Matt says and then takes a deep breath. “What if I tell you that I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

Oh.

Foggy isn’t sure what he was expecting but it is definitely not those words, in that order, coming out of Matt’s mouth… and if their whole thing now is supposed to be based on honesty, there’s only one thing Foggy can say in response.

“I guess I would say… welcome to the club?”

Matt laughs quietly and turns to face Foggy, reaching over and grabbing Foggy’s hand, holding it between both of his. One of his thumbs runs over the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist and Foggy is finding it pretty hard to breathe again. If the night keeps up like this, he might not make it to morning.

“Well…” Matt says.

“This is an interesting predicament, isn’t it?” Foggy asks, voice a little higher than normal.

“It is isn’t it?” Matt smiles softly. “Hey, Fog.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Foggy’s pretty sure he’s flushing head to toe by now.

“I’m pretty sure my entire body is a giant neon sign to you right now but if you’re looking for verbal confirmation that I’m feeling the same way, you have it.”

Matt chuckles and Foggy will never get enough of the way his eyes wrinkle when he laughs. Matt lifts a hand, brushing a thumb along Foggy’s cheekbone before he cups his face and then they’re both leaning in to one another, meeting in the middle.

Matt’s lips are smooth but his stubble is rough against Foggy’s clean-shaven face. They kiss softly once, a chaste first kiss, then Matt presses in for another… and another. It’s not long before Matt’s tongue runs along the seam of Foggy’s lips and Foggy is all too eager to open for him.

Matt’s mouth is warm and inviting and he tastes a little like Foggy’s favorite beer… but the absolute best thing about it? It’s Matt.

It’s Matt making soft sounds in the back of his throat when Foggy nips at his bottom lip.

It’s Matt with his fingers twining through the hair on the back of Foggy’s head.

It’s Matt Foggy is kissing.

And very quickly, it’s Matt pushing Foggy into the back of the couch to climb up onto his lap, making Foggy groan with the sudden weight on top of him.

Foggy runs his hands up Matt’s back, under his shirt, feeling the muscles flex and shift as Matt moves. Both of Matt’s hands are in Foggy’s hair as he tries to devour Foggy whole.

Eventually, they break apart. Foggy’s chest is heaving, trying to catch what little oxygen is left in the room. He’s pleased to see Matt’s in the same state.

Matt brushes Foggy’s hair back from his forehead, runs a thumb across Foggy’s bottom lip. Foggy nips at it, making Matt smile. Foggy smiles back, resting his hands on Matt’s waist.

“Wow,” Foggy says.

“Yeah,” Matt nods, his voice low and husky.

Foggy finds he likes that voice. He wants to hear a lot more of that voice.

“If this is the result, I guess I cook even better than I expected,” Foggy says.

Matt tilts his head, his hand rests on Foggy’s neck, thumb rubbing back and forth across Foggy’s pulse.

“Was tonight actually a date?”

When he had said it last night, he meant it mostly as a figure of speech. But he’d be lying if he hadn’t at least thought about it.

“I guess it… wasn’t _not_ a date?” Foggy says.

“Hmm,” Matt says.

He leans in and rests his forehead against Foggy’s. His hand slips down to play with a button on Foggy’s shirt.

“What are your thoughts on putting out on a first date?”

Foggy’s throat goes dry.

“I’m a fan. I’m a very big fan,” Foggy says quickly.

Matt laughs, his face scrunching in the way that makes Foggy’s heart feel too big for his chest.

“Well, what do you know?” Matt says, as he undoes Foggy’s button. “So am I.”

 

* * *

 

Matt would laugh at the stereotype they are, leaving a literal trail of clothes in their wake on the way to the bedroom, but he’s too busy listening to Foggy groan when he drags his chin across Foggy’s skin as he kisses a path from his ear to his shoulder.

When they reach the bed, Matt stops to pull off a stubborn stock, and Foggy laughs, watching Matt hop around in his impatience. Matt grins at him before finally tossing the offending sock across the room and pushing Foggy back onto the bed, where he lands with a soft _oof_ before Matt crawls back on top of him.

Matt’s emotions are still running high and every touch from Foggy feels electrifying on his already sensitive skin. From the sounds Foggy is making, it seems like he might be feeling the same way.

There are so many things Matt wants to do, there are so many way he wants to touch Foggy now that he has permission.

It will all have to wait, though, Matt is naked and straddling him right now and that can’t be ignored. Foggy sits up with Matt in his lap and wraps his arms around Matt’s waist as they find each other’s mouths again.

Their skin runs slick with sweats, hands finding purchase on whatever flesh is available. Matt can tell that neither of them are going to last long, but he takes solace in the certainty that this won’t be it, that there will be more times to come in the future.

Foggy slips his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around them both as best he can. It doesn’t take long before Matt’s whispering Foggy’s name over and over, his hips jerking.

Matt comes silently, his face buried in Foggy’s neck, enveloped by Foggy’s smell, by his taste, as his body tenses. He listens as Foggy’s heart speeds when he replaces Foggy’s hand with his own.

He moans Matt’s name when he comes, the warmth of Foggy’s satisfaction spreading over Matt’s stomach.

They trade gentle kisses as they come down from their high, until Foggy chuckles, the whirlwind of the night’s events leaving them both on an emotional high. His laughter makes Matt laugh and eventually it makes kissing nearly impossible. They separate and set about cleaning themselves up.

With Foggy grinning every time Matt catches him staring, and Matt grabbing Foggy to pull him in for another kiss every time they brush past each other in the search of a washcloth or a pair of underwear, they eventually make their way back to bed.

Foggy rests his head on Matt’s shoulder and Matt runs his fingers through the soft strands of Foggy’s hair.

Matt can’t stop smiling and from the hitches in Foggy’s breathing, he knows Foggy is having the same problem.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Foggy says, breath warm on Matt’s chest. “I didn’t expect the night to go this way.”

“Me neither,” Matt agrees. “But I’m happy it did.”

Foggy’s breath catches when Matt turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Foggy’s forehead.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, throwing and arm across Matt’s chest. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy wakes up to sunlight streaming into the room, and a warm palm over his heart. He blinks into the light, waiting for his eyes to adjust, listening to the soft sound of breathing coming from the pillow next to him. When they do, he turns his head towards the sound.

Matt’s lying on his stomach, his face smashed into Foggy’s pillow, mouth slightly open. Foggy smiles and Matt’s fingers twitch on his chest.

He spends half a minute enjoying the view before he reaches over and pokes Matt’s cheek.

“I know you’re awake,” Foggy says.

Matt grins, a dimple appearing where Foggy had pressed his finger. Foggy actually wasn’t entirely sure Matt _was_ awake, but he’s glad his suspicion was correct.

“Could feel you staring at me,” Matt mumbles, voice full of sleep. There’s a band of sunlight falling over his face. He looks like he’s glowing.

“Couldn’t help myself,” Foggy says, maybe a little lovestruck.

Matt snorts into the pillow before scooting over to flop on top of Foggy’s chest. He hums contentedly.

Foggy runs his fingers through Matt’s hair and Matt sighs, rubbing his cheek against Foggy’s skin.

Foggy hisses.

“I’m going to be living in a constant state of beard burn with your permanent five o’clock shadow, aren’t I?”

Matt grins against his chest and Foggy immediately knows what’s about to happen.

Matt rubs his cheek against Foggy even harder and Foggy gasps.

“No you don’t!” Foggy says, and tries to push Matt off of him.

They half-heartedly grapple, Foggy trying to dig a finger into Matt’s side where he knows Matt is ticklish, despite his years of denial, and Matt trying to rub his face on any piece of skin he can reach.

Foggy only realizes they’re too close to the edge of the bed when he pushes as Matt pulls and Matt goes tumbling to the floor.

“Oh shit!”

Foggy peers down at Matt, who’s look of shock sends Foggy into a fit of laughter after he sees Matt’s not hurt.

“Some ninja you are,” he wheezes.

Matt finally breaks and _giggles_.

It’s like being able to see back in time, the way Matt’s entire face lights up. He looks just like Foggy remembers him in law school when they would have a little bit too much to drink and Matt would squirm around in his chair.

But this time, everything is out in the open, even the undercurrent of attraction that Foggy’s carried with him since day one. There’s nothing left to be revealed, no secrets waiting to be excised.

Now there’s just Matt, laying on his bedroom floor, giggling like the dork he is.

Foggy’s never been more in love.

 

* * *

 

Neither of them bother to get dressed while Matt makes breakfast. It’s kind of pointless when Matt plans on dragging Foggy back to bed after they eat.

Foggy turns on the radio and sits down at the table, reading some of the news headlines off of his laptop out loud to Matt as he pulls ingredients out of the fridge and cupboards.

Matt listens closely as Foggy speaks. The way the words sound, framed by the smile that hasn’t left his face since they woke up.

He also hears the way Foggy trails off when Matt has to bend over to pull out the eggs from the bottom shelf of the fridge. He hears the sharp inhale when Matt stretches, trying to work out the kink that he’s pretty sure developed when he fell onto the floor earlier.

Foggy’s body is singing a beautiful melody of desire to him from across the kitchen.

Matt desperately wants to have this every morning. For the rest of his life, preferably. The whole tableau is frighteningly domestic. And a little terrifying.

Matt’s never been happier.

He smiles and turns off the burner. They’ll have to eat breakfast later.

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially the longest (complete) thing I've ever written. If you made it to the end... wow. I cannot even begin to thank you for reading this! Seriously... thank you!
> 
> Quick shout outs to: 
> 
> [nightwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker)/[onemuseleft](https://onemuseleft.tumblr.com) for answering questions about Catholicism from a lapsed Lutheran.
> 
> [frankcastiglione](http://frankcastiglione.tumblr.com/)/[captaincastle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastle/works) for helping me figure out what Frank might smell like.
> 
> (ps come visit me on tumblr: [bootycap](https://bootycap.tumblr.com))


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